“I’m good.”
“And if you can’t reach me, call Dylan.”
I wouldn’t ask Dylan for help if I was bleeding out on the pavement and needed him to call 911.
“Yeah, sure,” I say to end this conversation. “Whatever you want.”
Sloan gives me a drunken smile. “You need someone to take care of you. I don’t like you living alone in Studio City in that shithole apartment.”
“It’s not the Ritz Carlton. But it’s what I can afford,” I counter as I drink the rest of my beer. “Once you get used to it, the building isn’t so bad.”
Dylan laughs under his breath.
Sloan shakes his head. “It’s too much money for what you’re getting in return. The last time I visited you, I found a used condom in the stairwell.”
“It would be nice if you’d stop nagging me while I live here,” I quip. “We all can’t be like you and Dylan and become millionaires overnight. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“We work our asses off,” Dylan snaps, sitting up on the couch, his heated gaze fixed on me.
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, officer. Don’t shoot. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We did luck out,” Sloan admits.
“But we also bust our asses,” Dylan challenges. “Don’t discredit what we’ve done to make your sister feel better about her shitty life.”
“Woah,” Sloan says.
“Chill,” I add. “We’ve had too much to drink. It’s time for bed. I have to get up early, anyway.”
“Good idea,” Dylan growls.
He drops the empty vodka bottle on the table and storms out of the living room. Sloan watches him leave and then extends his hand to me.
“Come on. I’ll show you how to work the alarm clock in your room.”
“Oh, great.” I groan as he tugs on my hand and pulls me up from the couch. “More technology I have to figure out.”
Sloan laughs. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
We enter my bedroom, and Sloan closes the door behind him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Dylan doesn’t deal well with change.”
I learned that from firsthand experience.
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I understand.”
I tried to understand a long time ago.
“He’ll come around,” Sloan promises. “Dylan needs time to adapt. But seriously, I meant what I said. If you can’t get a hold of me, I want you to call Dylan, okay? He thinks of you like a sister. He’ll help you out if you need it.”
My brother has no idea how wrong he is about his best friend. There’s nothing familial about our relationship. I can still feel his lips on mine when I close my eyes and savor his warm skin pressed against mine. Sometimes, I imagine his hand dipping beneath my panties when I’m in bed at night. I hate myself for feeling something for Dylan, even if it’s only my sexual frustration.
But it’s hard to forget your first love.
Sloan gives me a one-arm hug. “Night, sis. We leave at six-thirty. Don’t be late unless you want to get on Dylan’s bad side.”
I tilt my head back and laugh. “I’m already on his shit list.”
Chapter Six
Ash
After I take a much-needed shower, I drop my towel onto the bed and slide open the glass doors that lead to the beach. I step onto the balcony, drinking in the salty air.
This beats the hell out of my apartment and my view of a parking lot. I love it here, always did. If it weren’t for my issues with Dylan, I would visit my brother more often. But Dylan makes me feel so damn unwelcome. He makes it known that he doesn’t want me in his life… or anywhere near the precious world he has built for himself.
I slowly make my way toward the end of the balcony, where a set of stairs lead to the beach. I’m dying to feel the crunch of sand between my toes and the wind in my hair as the breeze blows off the water.
A soft light illuminates from the last bedroom. Creeping past Dylan’s window, I do my best not to make a sound as I take a quick peek inside his bedroom. If Dylan finds me outside of his room, he will think I’m snooping on him.
I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see him. He must have waited until he thought I was in bed before heading back into the living room.
Dylan has always been a night owl. He likes to write code at night when he says his brain takes over, and he’s a slave to his creations. It must be a creative thing because I also have my best ideas at night. I like to write my screenplays when everyone is asleep. But with my new job, I haven’t had as much time to pursue my art.
At the center of Dylan’s room, there’s a California king mattress attached to a black metal headboard and footrail. The sheets look like black silk that I would love to roll around on after a hot bath.
An entire wall is dedicated to a long computer desk with a handful of monitors and servers on racks. Dylan has a gamer chair in my favorite color, black with red stripes down the sides. Video game posters, covers of tech magazines, and pictures of Dylan and Sloan at Date Crashers events cover the walls.
His room looks the same as when he was in college. Dylan might be sexy and somewhat irresistible, but he will always be a nerd at heart. That’s the boy I fell in love with. I loved him so damn much that I gave him everything—every part of me.
When my bare feet hit the soft sand, I let out a moan that almost sounds sexual. Damn, this feels good. Smiling like an idiot, I rub my feet into the sand and stagger toward the water. This is my favorite part of Southern California. I love that you can drive almost anywhere and find the beach, dip your feet into the water, and soak up the sun.
“What are you doing?”
I jump at the sound of the deep voice that booms behind me. I must have imagined it. No one’s on the beach with me, not this late at night.
“Ash,” he says with a threatening tone. “Don’t ignore me. I know you can hear me. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
My heart speeds up, but this time, for an entirely different reason. Dylan. I spin around to face him. He’s on the ground, with a bottle in his hand and one leg propped up, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a comic book tee that hugs his chest. He changed since the last time I saw him. Now, he looks more like the boy I knew in high school.
“I wanted to feel the sand,” I admit, now aware of how lame I sound. “And I wanted to see the ocean.”
“You should be in bed. Sleeping. We leave for work in five hours.”
I hover over him, staring down as he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
He ignores my question, so I swipe the bottle from his hand. Dylan reaches for it, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. He tugs. Hard enough that I lose my balance, and I fall on top of him. With an irritated grunt, he rolls me over and onto my back, but he remains on his side, looking down at me.
He studies me like a line of code.
Like I’m an equation he needs to solve.
“I don’t need much sleep,” he says after a while.
I squeeze my fingers around the bottle and drink, all too aware that it tastes like vodka and Dylan. It’s like kissing his lips all over again but without the pleasure of the release. Dylan steals the bottle from my hand. His immediate contact sends a shiver down my arm, creating goosebumps along my flesh.